


Pink

by somekindaspacecadet



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, Spot conlon is trans (fact), Trans Male Character, Trans Spot Conlon, medda is mom (fact fact), race is the sweetest (also fact)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 22:00:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15958394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindaspacecadet/pseuds/somekindaspacecadet
Summary: Race is in love with the boy in the pink suspenders.





	Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Well........here's my first post, hope it doesn't suck. Thanks for reading.

Racetrack Higgins snatched his hat from where it had been resting on the floor by his bunk and put it on. He grabbed his shoes in the other hand and carefully tiptoed across the floorboards of the dormitory he shared with the other boys his age, barely breathing as he slipped through the open door. He padded across the hall and down the stairs in his socks, stopping briefly at the front door of the Manhattan Newsboys’ Lodging House to slip into his shoes. His heart pounded as he twisted the doorknob, painstakingly slowly so as not to wake the other boys. The chilly September dusk air brushed across his face as he stepped outside. He couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face as he started running, past restaurants and shops, apartment buildings and offices, taking the back route to the Brooklyn Bridge.

The elderly man who lit the street lamps each night was working in the opposite direction, and he turned in curiosity to watch the skinny, light-haired boy dart between the pools of light the lamps cast onto the street.

Race reached the bridge in minutes. He sprinted across it, feeling like he didn't even need to breathe, like he was flying over the sleeping city. Anyone in their right mind would be nervous to walk through New York City in the dark, but all Race could think of was Brooklyn, the Brooklyn Lodge and the boy waiting for him inside it, getting closer and closer with every step. He didn't care that they had to wait until dark; he didn't care that no one could know. For the first time in his life, Race didn't feel one bit like a terrified, shivering, stuttering, stumbling little boy, not even secretly. He understood now that the right person was worth every risk. Spot Conlon was.

They saw each other almost every day now, for a little bit before they both went to sell, and then for an hour or so afterwards. Race lived for every tiny moment he got to spend with Spot, listening to him talk about anything and everything, making him smile and laugh, getting to sit close to him and brush against him when they walked. They'd never said it, but Race knew that Spot wasn't just his friend. And tonight wasn't like the other times; it was secret, exciting, more. 

Race could see the Lodge now, a plain brick building just like the others. He slowed to a walk, his breath ragged and heart fluttering as he approached and walked around the side of the building to the back, stopping just before the last window on the left, which was still illuminated by the yellow glow of lamplight. He quickly yanked off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair a few times, checked to make sure all his shirt buttons were done, and straightened his sleeves, then took a deep breath and knocked on the window pane three times.

He felt himself smiling helplessly again as Spot appeared in the window, bright pink suspenders and all, and undid the latch. He shoved the glass pane up over his head and stuck his arms out to help Race climb in. Race clambered over the sill as quietly as possible and closed the window behind him. He turned around and hugged Spot tightly, pressing his face into his hair. “Hey.”

“H-hey.” Spot squirmed out of the hug after a few seconds, blushing as he took a step backwards. “You made it outta Manhattan okay?”

Race nodded. After a split second, he regretted hugging Spot without asking first. He hated to think that he'd ruin everything just by forgetting something so simple. “I'm sorry. I know you don't like to-- I mean, I shoulda asked--”

Spot shook his head quickly. “No, s’okay. I don't mind.”

Race tried his best not to look like he was examining every square inch of Spot's room, taking in his bed, his spare clothes folded neatly in the corner, his bag for papers and a small beaten suitcase behind the door. “So-- what do you wanna do?”

Spot's ears were turning red. “I- I dunno. I just wanted to see you someplace besides-- work.”

“Yeah.” Race smiled at him. “Me too. I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Seeing that he was nervous, Race went over and sat on the edge of the bed, his legs swinging. “You ain't gonna believe what happened today.”

Spot walked over to him and sat down carefully. “What?”

“I beat Crutchie at poker. I won enough to buy-- well, I dunno what yet. New shoes, maybe, or a haircut. I could get some suspenders like yours.” He smirked.

“Definitely shoes.”

“Yeah, they got holes in em.” Race wiggled his toes. “But my hair's gettin pretty long, don'tcha think?” He took his hat off and tugged at his curls.

Spot reached up and touched Race's hair gently. “It looks good this way.”

It was Race's turn to blush. He tried to hide it with a smirk. “Well, hey, anythin for you.”

Spot shook his head imperceptibly with a tiny smile.

Race felt bolder now. He kept talking, telling Spot everything that went through his head. And Spot would just listen, laughing at some of the sillier things, simply nodding his head at others. Race felt safer here than he ever had anywhere before. Every word, every sentence, every thought was allowed. Spot teased him sometimes, poked fun at the things he did or laughed at his mistakes, but Race never felt like Spot thought any less of him for all those times messed up.

So they kept talking, there on the edge of the bed. Race nudged Spot with his shoulder as he spoke, and when Spot’s hand brushed against his, he took it in stride, wrapping their fingers together securely. His hand was trembling a little, Race noticed, just enough to be felt but not seen. He gave Spot’s hand a gentle squeeze. He knew how reserved and private Spot was, for all his toughness and threatening exterior. It had taken weeks for Spot to even get used to touching Race a tiny bit without recoiling. He must be really nervous to have me in his room, Race thought. “Hey.” He paused his train of thought when he noticed Spot’s shaking get even worse. “You good?”

Spot squeezed his eyes shut. “Uh. Yeah. Yes.”

“Would it be better if I moved over here a little?” Race asked, scooting away just a little. He untangled his fingers from Spot’s. “Sorry. I get to talkin and I forget to give people space, y’know--”

“Please don't let go,” Spot said suddenly, grabbing Race's hand again.

Surprised, Race looked over at him. “Okay. Okay, I won't.” He scanned Spot's face, concerned. “Spot, what's goin on? You look real nervous.” He shook his head. “I don't wanna do anythin you don’t like.”

“No. No. Race-- Racer, I gotta--” Spot stammered. “I- I asked ya to come cause I- I-”

“What is it? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Race asked anxiously. He'd never seen Spot so shaken.

“I- n-no. I mean-- yes. No.” Spot shook his head. “I ain't hurt. I- I-I- you're--” He laughed nervously. “This is gonna be the last time I ever see you, ain't it?”

Race felt the color drain from his face. “Y-you don't wanna see me anymore?”

“No!” Spot exclaimed. “No-- I-- course I wanna see you, Racer, but you- you-”

“I don't get it.” Race frowned. “Spot, hey, if you don't wanna see me no more, it's-- it's okay, just give it to me straight, okay? ”

“No! Race-- God!” In one frustrated movement, Spot grabbed Race’s face with both hands and kissed him.

Immediately, Race’s world stopped spinning. Spot was suddenly the only person in the universe. As soon as they touched, there was no more talking, no more yelling, no more shaking, just stillness as they both froze but didn't dare to move away from each other. Stillness, and then warmth, and then a tiny wave of motion, starting as Race kissed Spot just the smallest bit deeper, and getting bigger as Spot kissed him back. Then before he knew it, Spot's hands were in his hair, on his neck, his shoulders, his back, his waist. He wrapped his arms around Spot to pull him closer and squeezed him just a little bit tighter, loosely enough that he could still pull away if he wanted, but tight enough to convey please don't stop.

They were still kissing, noses bumping and sharp breaths interrupting, but Race didn't care about the tiny imperfections, and his fingers found Spot's suspenders and slipped them off his shoulders. Without thinking, Race slid his hands underneath Spot's shirt.

All at once, everything stopped. Race stopped, confused, upon feeling the smooth linen bandages that were wrapped around Spot’s torso, and Spot stopped, pulling away from Race and pushing himself towards the opposite end of the bed. He sat there, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut again, hands balled into fists. This time Race could see him trembling.

Race’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he remembered how to speak. “Spot-- I'm sorry--” He felt an ache in the pit of his stomach as he looked at Spot. “I shouldn't’a done that. I'm real sorry, Spot.” He twisted the bedsheets in his hands anxiously. “Were you tryin to tell me you was hurt? Is that what the bandages are for? Cause I don't mind, you don't gotta be embarrassed, I hurt myself all the time--”

Spot was shaking his head. “I ain't hurt, Race,” he said in a barely audible whisper.

Race stared at Spot, eyebrows furrowing. “What you got the bandages for?” He asked. “It's okay. You can tell me. I won't tell nobody else, I swear I won't.”

“They ain't for bein hurt. They're for-- they're for--” Spot swallowed. “Coverin’ up.”

“Coverin’ up?” Race echoed. “Spot, I don't--”

“God, I thought I'd be able to tell you,” Spot said hoarsely. “I thought I was gonna tell you if we was alone, if nobody else was around… I- I know you’s gonna hate me, I know you ain't never gonna come back, but I had to tell you, you was so nice, I liked you, I- I couldn't lie to you anymore…”

“Lie to me? Spot, what the hell--”

“What the hell,” Spot repeated. “What the hell, you ain't never comin back, s-so what the hell, right? What the hell.” With shuddering fingers he unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled the fabric off his shoulders and tossed it away sharply. He reached to his back and loosened the bandages, holding the plain fabric up to himself. “Look, Racer, see?” He said bitterly, his face bright red. “Look at the freak you stuck yourself with. Look at the piece of trash you was kissing.”

Wide-eyed, Race tried to speak. “I-- but-- I don't--”

“Save it.” Spot pulled his shirt back around himself tightly. “Get out.”

“But--”

“Leave.”

Race scrambled to his feet and started to back towards the window, hand on the latch. “Spot…”

Spot didn't answer.

“Okay,” Race whispered. “I-I’m goin.” He unlocked the window and slid it open. “I'm sorry.”

He climbed over the windowsill and shut the window behind him, barely pausing to glance back at Spot before taking off again, running as fast as his feet would take him back to Manhattan. He felt his face getting hot and tears pricking at his eyes, partly from the cold, dry air, but mostly from the image of Spot's face and the feeling of his lips and the sound of his voice that still reverberated in Race’s head insistently. Spot was never going to want to speak to him again, not after he’d seen-- what? Race shuddered. He didn’t understand what he’d seen, but the expression on Spot’s face was enough to scare him off.

When he finally reached Manhattan, he snuck back in through the door again, biting his lip and shoving a hand across his face to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. He climbed back into his empty bunk, underneath Mush’s, and buried his face in the folded-up blanket he used for a pillow. He wasn't sure when he stopped shaking and finally fell asleep.

 

When Jack came to wake him up the next morning, Race groaned and rolled away. “M’tired, Jack. Lemme sleep in. I'll sell extra tomorrow.”

“You better start sellin extra every day. You barely made rent last month,” Jack reminded him less-than-gently. He reached over and felt Race’s forehead. “You ain't hot. You think you’s sick?”

“No,” Race mumbled. “Just don't think I can do much today.”

Jack sat down by the edge of his bunk, his tone immediately changing to a more concerned one. “Hey, what's goin on? Everythin okay?” He poked Race in the shoulder to get him to turn around and face him. “You ain't been havin nightmares again?”

Race shook his head.

“Then what is it?”

Race felt a lump rise in his throat. Jack was his brother. He just wanted to look out for him, and Race wasn't making that any easier by keeping secrets. “It's-- it's a real long story, Jack.”

Jack got up onto the bed and sat down, cross legged. Race pulled himself up to face him. “Well, you better start from the beginnin then.”

“But-- the other boys--”

“Crutchie and Blink can get em ready. They know what to do. We got time.” Jack nudged him again. “C’mon, tell me.”

Race fiddled with the hem of his shirt nervously. “Well, uh, you-- you know I ain't exactly goin for the girls.”

Jack snorted. “Yeah, I think I figured that out before you did.”

Race blushed. “Yeah. Anyway, it's-- it's sorta about that.”

“You’s seein somebody?”

Race nodded.

“Hey, that's great!” Jack grinned. “Who is he? Anybody I know?”

“Uh… well, yeah.”

“Aw, come on, you can't leave me hangin now. Who is it?”

Race stared at his feet. “Spot Conlon,” he mumbled.

There was a pause. Jack blinked. “Spot Conlon?” he echoed in disbelief. “You messin with me, Racetrack?”

Race shook his head, still blushing furiously.

“Damn.” Jack whistled. “I didn't know he liked guys. Actually, I didn't even know he liked anybody.” He looked at Race curiously.

“He likes me.” Race responded. “Or at least I- I thought he did.”

“Hang on,” Jack said, defensiveness suddenly rising up in his voice. “Did he do somethin to you? If that asshole hurt you I'll--”

“No!” Race interrupted. “No, no. I'm okay. It weren't nothin like that.” He felt his eyes starting to sting again. “Spot-- Spot wouldn't hurt me. You guys all think he's mean and he ain't got feelins or somethin, but-- he's real different than that. I… I love him.”

Jack nodded. “I'm sorry, Racer. I didn't mean to make it sound like that,” he apologized. “How long you guys been doin this for?”

“Six, maybe seven months.” Race shrugged. “We was just talkin, really. Till last night.” He swallowed. “I- I weren't sposed to tell you. I think he was worried people would make fun of 'im.”

Jack frowned. “What happened last night?”

“He-- he asked me to meet him in his room at Brooklyn,” Race explained. “He got Roacher’s room after he-- after he took over, so he’s by himself. I went over after you was all asleep. And we- we just talked at first, but I figured he musta asked me to come at night so we could-- be alone, y’know? But he was real nervous, so I was just holdin his hand an talkin to him.”

“Then what happened?”

“We-w-we kissed.” Race stammered. “It- it was the first time, but it was really nice, and I thought he liked it, and I really liked it, and I sorta- I sorta- put my hands up his shirt.”

“On the first kiss? Damn, Race.” Jack said. “But then again, that does seem like somethin you'd pull.”

“I weren't pullin nothin,” Race protested. “Really, I weren't. The last thing I wanted to do was mess it up, but I- I did. I messed it up real bad, Jack.” He bit his already sore lip again. He thought he'd broken that bad habit.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, I bet it ain't as bad as you think. Just tell me what happened, okay?”

“He had bandages under his shirt,” Race said. “I- I dunno what for. He got real upset when I saw em. H-he said he was a- a freak, and-- and he shouted at me to leave and-- I-- h-he looked so--” Race pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms with a sniffle.

“Racer…” Jack said sympathetically. “I’m real sorry.”

“I- I don't even know what they was for,” Race said, his voice wobbling. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked over at Jack. “I don't even know what I did wrong. I didn't wanna do nothin wrong. I wanna fix it. I-I can't lose him.”

“I know what that feels like, believe me,” Jack said quietly. “You gotta talk to him.”

“What if he don't trust me?” Race asked anxiously. “I- I don't care if he's hurt or sick or there's somethin different about him. I- I love him.”

Jack nodded. “If you really love him, then you better talk to him.”

“But-- he's workin.”

“Good point.” Jack got off the bed and stood up. “You better work too then, and find him after.” He held out a hand and helped Race up. “Go on, we're gonna miss the headline.”

Race paused for a second, then hugged Jack tightly. “Thanks.”

Jack smiled and ruffled Race's hair. “Anythin for my little brother.”

“Hey! You ain't allowed to call me little. I'm taller than you now.”

“Nah, you're still gonna be my little brother. It's permanent. Sorry.” Jack smirked.

Race stuck his tongue out at Jack, and they walked out together.

 

After a long day of selling, Race thought he’d have almost forgotten what happened last night. No such luck. As the sun began to set behind the skyline, he started walking as slowly as possible to the docks, counting the coins he’d earned as he went. He thought every person passing by must have been able to hear his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“Hey.”

Race yelped, startled, and whirled around to find Spot standing behind him. He sighed. “Hey, Spotty.” He winced when the nickname he knew Spot hated came out of his mouth automatically.

“You look happy to see me,” Spot said sarcastically. He wasn’t meeting Race’s eyes, but instead had his hands shoved into his pockets, and kicked his feet against the ground.

“I am,” Race said quickly. “I- I wanted to talk to ya. If that's okay.”

Spot shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Please?” Race begged. “Just tell me whatever it is. I ain't gonna care. It ain't gonna change how I-- how I feel 'bout you.”

Spot scoffed. “Real romantic of ya.”

Race felt his face getting hot. “Spot. Please. I wanna be with you, and I know-- o-or at least I'm pretty sure-- you wanna be with me too. And if we's gonna do that then-- then we gotta trust each other.”

“Oh yeah? How do I know I can trust you?” Spot glared at Race.

Race’s face fell. “Well-- I--...”

Spot sighed. “Fine. C’mere.” He grabbed Race's sleeve. He checked over both of his shoulders, then pulled him into the alleyway between the two buildings they had been standing beside. He leaned up against a stack of crates. “I--” he sighed. “You know what I am, Race. You saw me.”

Race frowned. “No. I don't get it.” He stood next to Spot. “What was the bandages for?”

Spot looked at him. “You really don't know?”

Race shook his head.

Spot laughed nervously. “Course you don't. Course you don't.”

“Can you just tell me?” Race asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Spot was silent.

“Spot, I swear,” Race insisted, “I swear no matter what it is, I ain’t gonna like you any less. I ain’t gonna think of you different.”

“When I was born,” Spot began abruptly, “My parents didn’t name me Antonio.”

Race blinked. “Okay?”

“They named me Sofia.”

“Oh.” Race’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What’d they do that for?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Spot snapped. “I was born a girl.” He looked up at Race. His voice was tight and angry. “I don’t look like a boy. I ain’t made like a boy. But I dress like a boy and I talk like a boy and I use bandages to make my chest look flat like a boy, because-- because I am.” His hands were balled into fists. “Because I ain’t like you or anybody else. I’m made wrong.”

Race didn’t know what to say. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly.

“Roacher knew,” Spot continued. “He was the only one who knew. He knew that’s why I was so mean to everybody, and he knew if I was the leader I’d take it serious. And now he’s--” Spot winced.

“But…” Race managed. “No. You’re not-- you don’t-- how can you--”

“I didn’t expect you to understand.” Spot’s mouth tightened into a line. “Nobody ever will.”

“Stop that. Stop actin like I’m too stupid to talk to.” Spot tried to turn away, and Race grabbed his hand. “I wanna understand. Just-- just tell me about it so I can understand.”

“Let go of me.” Spot yanked his hand away. “Don’t act like you care.”

“I care about you!” Race yelled, his eyes wide with hurt. “Why do you gotta be such an asshole to everybody, Spot? Cause I do care about you, more than you think you know, but if you cared about me, you wouldn’t treat me like an idiot! If you cared about me you’d trust me!”

“I risked enough just talkin to you,” Spot snarled. “I risked more than enough for you, Racetrack.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Race threw his hands up. “That I'm a risk? That I ain't worth the effort?”

“Maybe you ain't, if you can't live with me bein different.”

“I don't care if you’s different,” Race argued. “I care if you trust me enough to tell me.”

“I don't think I can trust anybody.”

Race grabbed his shoulders. “For fuck’s sake, Spot. I'm right here. I'm right here and you ain't hearin me. You can trust me.”

“I--”

“I ain't gonna tell nobody. I'll tell em whatever you want me to. Is that what you're scared of? That I'm gonna run around and tell the whole city bout you?”

“If you did, I'd do worse than soak you.”

Race scoffed. “Sure. But you don't gotta worry bout it, cause I won't.”

“How do I know that?”

Race shrugged. “Guess you just gotta take my word for it.” He was still holding Spot by the shoulders, but his hands had loosened. “Please? If I screw up I'll let you do whatever you want with me, but just gimme a chance?”

There was a long pause, and then Spot gave a tiny nod. Race wasn't sure if he reached for him or if Spot fell forward, or both, but they ended up hugging. Race squeezed Spot tightly.

“You tell anybody, you're in for it,” Spot mumbled, his voice muffled by Race's shirt.

“I know.” Race kissed the top of Spot's head. “It's gonna be okay.”

“You don't gotta make it sappy.” Spot pushed himself away, but he was smirking. “You gotta go back home now. Go on.” He pushed Race.

“I don't got anythin to do.”

“Well I got a Lodge to run, dumbass,” Spot said, rolling his eyes. “Get goin.”

“Okay, okay,” Race said, backing away. He couldn't help but smile. “What about tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Can I see you?”

“If you's lucky.”

“Luck a the Irish?”

“Nice try.”

Race shook his head, grinning. He watched Spot as he walked away. Silhouetted against the sunset, he looked just like a painting.

 

“Miss Medda!” Race banged on the back entrance to the Bowery, that door that every newsie could find with their eyes closed in the dark. “Miss Medda!” he shouted, knocking insistently.

“Quit your hollerin,” Medda said with a smile as she opened the door. “Hi, honey. What’re you up to this time?”

“I need-- I gotta-- do you have--” Race wheezed. He'd run all the way from where he'd been talking to Spot.

“Slow down,” Medda said, laughing. “C’mon inside. I got chocolates somebody gave me from the last show and I been lookin for somebody to share em with.”

Race followed Medda inside and into her dressing room, where he flopped onto the pink love seat in the corner with a sigh.

Medda sat across from him in her chair and offered him the heart-shaped box of chocolates that had been sitting on the table. She chuckled as Race grabbed three and stuffed them into his mouth. “You look like you've had one hell of a day, Mr. Higgins.”

He nodded eagerly.

“Well, don't waste no time. I wanna hear all about it.”

Race shook his head. “Mm-mm.” He swallowed his chocolate. “I can't tell you. everythin,” he explained. “It's personal. I just wanted to ask you if I could have somethin. I got money for it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, which spilled onto the table and the ground.

“Good heavens, what’re you tryin to buy? My pearls?” Medda looked at Race curiously.

“Pink ribbons.”

“Pink ribbons?” Medda repeated. “Well, sure, honey, I got lots of that.” Race tried to offer her the coins, but she swatted his hand away. “It don't cost nothin. And you know I don't like takin money from you boys."

Race stuffed the coins back into his pocket. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

Medda stood up and pulled open a drawer. “What kinda pink?”

“As bright as you got, please,” Race answered. Medda pulled out a roll of ribbon and stretched some out so he could see.

“How much?” she asked.

Race pulled his shoelace out and held it up. “Can you cut two this long?”

Medda measured Race's shoelace against the ribbon and cut off two lengths. “Pink shoelaces, huh?”

Race nodded. He took the ribbons from Medda gratefully. “Thanks a lot. You're amazin.”

“I know.” Medda winked. “If I'm not mistaken, which I never am, this ribbon is just about the same color as somebody's suspenders, ain't it?”

Race blushed. “Yes ma'am.” He sat down and started threading the ribbons through his shoes. “Just makin sure he ain't alone.”

“That’s a real nice thing to do.” Medda smiled. “You better hurry now. It's gettin dark.”

But Race was already headed out the door. “Bye, Miss Medda!” he shouted. “Thanks!”

“Good luck,” Medda called, and laughed to herself again as she closed the door behind him.

 

Race didn't pause this time before knocking eagerly on Spot’s window frame. He was a little worried that maybe Spot didn't want to see him, that he’d still want time alone after what had happened, but he was too excited and happy to hold himself back. When he saw Spot stand up from his bed and come towards the window, he bounced up and down and waved.

“Spotty! Hi!” he said ecstatically as Spot slid the window open. He climbed over the edge and practically tumbled inside, all legs and arms. Not bothering to stand up, he pointed at his feet. “Look what I got!”

Spot raised an eyebrow at him as he shut the window and latched it. “I see that.”

“Don't you like em? They’s just like yours, see?”

“Yeah.” He reached down and pulled Race up. He looked down at his shoes, then up at his face. “How come?”

“Before I met you, I used to think pink was a girly color.” Race wiggled his toes. “Now it just reminds me of bein brave, like you.”

Spot's ears turned pink. “Aw, c’mon. You’s such a sap.”

Race shrugged. “Nothin wrong with that, is there?” He walked over and sat down on Spot's bed, bouncing a little. When Spot sat down next to him, he nudged him a little. “Hey. I wanna tell you somethin.”

“I--” Spot fidgeted a little. “Could we maybe take a break from talkin bout that for right now?”

“It ain't about that,” Race assured him. “It's just about us.”

“Okay.”

“We- we’s more than just friends, ain't we?”

Spot paused for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Guess so.” He looked up at Race. “That okay?”

Race beamed. “Yes!”

“Okay, okay.” Spot rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Calm down.”

Race laughed. “It's just real good to hear you say it,” he said. He took Spot's hand. “Cause I--” he stopped abruptly. “Don't feel like you gotta say it back. Cause you don't. I get it. No pressure.”

Spot raised an eyebrow at him. “Go on, then.”

He took a deep breath. “I-- I love you, Spot.”

Spot looked up at him. Race was scared for a minute that he would ask him to leave again, but instead, Spot leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, not desperately or angrily like the last time, but just a little, just exactly perfect. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @somekindaspacecadet where I post mildly interesting content !  
> Also I have a few other fics up rn about other underappreciated newsies ships so I'd love it if you wanted to read those <3 (and stay tuned for a college au hopefully coming soon with many many lgbt+ newsboys)


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